


Live To Die

by CreateTheWorld



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: (It's medival), (That's literally it), Acceptance, And anything that fits into those, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Homophobia, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Merlin, Internal Conflict, Kidnapping, Kinda, M/M, Magic, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Murder, Pain, Pedophilia, Royalty, Self Harm, Super Creepy Kings, War, i guess, mentions of abuse, mentions of self harm, so much pain, straight up murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreateTheWorld/pseuds/CreateTheWorld





	1. The Little Prince

Perhaps the most annoying part about being royalty was having to travel. 

Not that Darian really had anything against seeing the other kingdoms they controlled, in fact he really liked the change of scenery! But watching peasants...No, common folk, the king told him to call them common folk, right? Whatever- watching their subjects stumble and stare at the carriages as they rode by, it got a little boring after however many times they’d done it.

And even above the oddities of the peasants, the traveling itself - the act of moving, the act of leaving his home for longer times than he would normally like - that’s what he didn’t like. His parents liked to blame the fact he could hardly make it through a trip to the other kingdoms on the fact that he was merely six years old. He was a big boy! He just didn’t like sitting still for so long, was that so wrong of him? He shifted in his seat as he had the thought, glancing around at his parents, gripping onto the hem of his shirt as he stared out at the horizon. The rising sun at least provided him with something pretty to look at, for that he was thankful. He bounced in his seat, whining.

“Prince Darian?” There was a soft whisper from right outside. He blinked and turned, looking out the window on the back of the carriage. One of the servants, the one who was watching for danger seated behind the carriage, smiled and waved at him. “How are you, my lord? Do you need something?” 

He shook his head, just happy for the distraction. “No, sir, thank you!” He beamed. “Can I hear a story?” 

The servant chuckled, but obeyed, beginning a tale of a prince, and a dragon. Darain sat, fascinated, listening obediently, until the moment that the carriage jerked to a halt and the driver announced their arrival. The king and the queen were smiling softly at their son, affectionate but quiet, letting him enjoy the story of their servant. 

Once Darian noticed the ride was done, his mood soared. He giggled and clapped, excited to get out and explore the new kingdom. The door opened, the servant outside barely having time to blink before the tiny prince hurled himself at her, laughing. The King and Queen attempted to hide laughter at her shock as he hugged her around the neck.

Everything got so much better once the travelling was done, because Darian got to be his parents little pride and joy, he got to be the little prince, the adorable thing everyone cooed over, he got to be the center of attention!

His eyelids fluttered a little bit against the cold breeze blowing over their group. The royal family halted at the foot of the upward stairs to admire the castle in front of him, Darian still gripping tight to the Queen’s handmaiden. 

They had traveled to Tanten, a kingdom just out of the reach of the mainland that was almost always blanketed in a layer of snow. It was an old kingdom, one that had sustained itself for hundreds and hundreds of years, with the aide of the other main kingdoms that provided goods and services to each other through a three way alliance; Darian had been forced to learn about it from his teachers before they’d left on this trip, his first to the faraway kingdom. The King and Queen had hoped to avoid embarrassing situations in which the young prince offended those who lived here, as children were rather prone to do. 

Darian struggled a little bit, whining to be set down, tiny fists pushing against the maid’s shoulder. Once settled gently on the ground again, he raced up the stairs, leaving his parents behind him, grinning and laughing. He could hear his mother’s laughter while the King called after him to come back. When he stood, successful and proud, at the top of the stairs he watched them both grin up at him from far below. His father made a sweeping hand gesture, obviously trying to coax Darian back down. The child prince seemed to contemplate it for a moment, before hopping his way back down. His mother caught his hand and held him to her side with a gentle hand. “Now, don’t muddy your outfit, we must meet the Royal family. They have a prince, you know?” 

The Queen smiled down at her son, who huffed at the thought of another prince. But he was the prince! He was the shining joy of Solaria, he was their heir! The Queen ignored Darian’s whining and instead pat his head. He clung tight to her skirts, whining louder.

“I’m the prince!” 

His father hushed him with a stern look. “Yes, though at the moment you’re acting rather like a prince who wishes to stay in the carriage?” 

He whined, but quieted down, hiding in his mother’s skirts, pouting. The Queen and King exchanged soft words, until the Queen lifted the small prince up to rest on her hip, stroking his hair. “You are the prince, darling, you’re our prince, but there is another prince. The Prince of this kingdom, of Tanten, I’m sure your teacher told you of him.” She smiled softly at the servants around them, bringing their belongings up into the castle. “Prince Ethander is to become the king of Tanten, when the time comes. You and he shall be mighty allies, Darian! You will bring prosperity to our kingdoms.” She kissed his nose. 

Darian still didn’t like that idea of having to share the center of attention with another prince. But, if he had to meet a little kid that would be better for his kingdom when the time came for him to rule, then he could push through it. He didn’t have to do so with a smile, but he would do it. That would be a fair argument, right? He settled against her as they were escorted back up the stairs. The grand doors were swung open, allowing the warmth from the inside of the castle to momentarily run over the Royals outside, making Darian shiver.

Just inside the main entrance, and Darian only noticed them because his mother was pointing them out, was the Royal Family of Tanten. The Queen, holding a bundle in her arms that Darian couldn’t quite place, with the king beside them, his hand on his wife’s shoulder. As soon as the King set eyes on Darian’s family, his whole face lit up with a grin. Okay, as much as Darian whined about travelling and leaving his home, meeting the royal families of the lands was always fun. They were so nice to him, and they gave him yummy treats sometimes! He remembered times when he was younger and couldn’t leave his mommy’s lap, other kings and queens came to visit and would always give him sweet things, candies and toys and cakes. He’d share them with his servants and friends, which always made his parents call him a wonderful prince. He liked it when he made his parents proud! 

The royals in front of him weren’t familiar. He couldn’t remember meeting them at all in the past, though he didn’t mind that much. His teachers had told him that the King and Queen of Tanten, King Luca Jendesh and Queen Atheline Jendesh, were two of Solaria’s closest allies. He’d been told that meant they banded together in times of need, that the kingdoms always supported each other through conflicts. He’d been told some tales of his parents and the King of Tanten doing mischievous things together growing up. 

“The Royalty of Solaria have arrived, my lord and lady!” A man, Darian couldn’t place an age, stepped forth from the staff behind the royal family. He offered a smile to the Tantetian rulers before gesturing to the approaching family. “King Hamelyne Alden and Queen Valencia Alden, accompanied by their son Averadus Alden.” The servant turned and bowed to them, before returning to his spot behind King Luca. 

“Lord and Lady Jendesh!” Darian jumped at the sudden exclamation from his father, fisting his mother’s sleeve in his tiny fists. She laughed and soothed him, while his father advanced towards his old friends, arms outstretched. “ His father grinned and stepped up, arms out. “It’s been so, so long, my dearest friends!” 

The kings embraced, clapping each other on the backs, while the Queens bowed, kissing each other's cheeks, smiling and exchanging pleasantries, making sure to keep their children out of harm’s way. Darian again struggled to be set down, though this time his mother shook her head and kissed his forehead. “We don’t want you running off quite yet, hm?” She smiled softly. Queen Atheline cooed and waved to Darian, her own child resting in the crook of her arm. 

“And who might you be, my darling? Hm? Averadus, was it, Valencia?” 

“Yes.” She shifted Darian. He shyly held his hand out to the beautiful queen, blushing. “Now, where are your manners, Darian?” 

“Oh!” His face broke into a wide grin. “Hello, my lady! I’m Prince Darian!” 

“Oo, Darian!” The queen giggled, a hand out for Darian to kiss. “A fine name for a fine young man.” Her voice was smooth. Darian liked her voice, she was calming, and nice! He giggled and clung tighter to his mother. 

“And who might your newest prince be?” His mother asked, looking at the bundle of blankets in the other queens arm. Queen Atheline’s face lit up with a smile that made Darian giggle. 

“Why, this is Prince Ethander Jendesh! He’s asleep, little thing tuckered himself out last night with all his wailing, but I swear on a normal day he’s the sweetest prince you’ll ever meet. Aside from you, Averadus.” She smiled at the older child. Then, she slowly parted the blankets from the bundle and- Darian nearly shrieked. 

“Mommy! Mommy, mommy, it’s a tiny King!” 

The bundle stirred, blinking open its eyes slowly. Darian watched, fascinated, as tiny hands poked out from the blankets and stretched, yawning. His mother cooed and reached out to gently stroke the thing’s cheek. Darian reached out to poke it, though his mother stopped him and told him not to touch. What? How was that fair, that she got to touch it and he didn’t! He huffed and slumped against her again, glaring at the little King while it blinked enormous blue eyes up at it’s mother. He heard footsteps coming closer, though he didn’t turn to look, hiding away in his mother’s neck. A hand gently caressed his hair, and his father’s voice whispered to his mother, making them both chuckle. Another man spoke up from his mother’s other side. Oh! King Luca! Darian perked up against and reached out for the King of Tanten, making grabby fingers, wanting to officially meet the king. “Hello, King Luca!” 

“Well hello, little prince!” The king beamed, his cheeks a rosy red beneath his black beard as he bent down to lift the small child up from his mother’s arms. He clung on to the taller man instead, giggling and tugging on his beard. The king winced a little bit, though he let out another loud, jolly laugh that made Darian laugh as well. “And who might you be, hm?” 

“This is Prince Darian, my dearest friend.” His father chuckled, watching the two interact. “He is six years old, his birthday passed mere weeks ago.” His father pat his back again, gently. Darian giggled, basking in the attention. This was what he loved, without a doubt, though that other tiny child worried him. And where was the second prince? He knew of Prince Amar, the prince that was the same age as him. He was traded back to his parents, before being settled on the ground and told to behave himself. He was the topic of discussion for quite a while, sitting on the floor and toying around with his mom’s skirt. Soon, however, he was forgotten to them as the four royals went about speaking of negotiations, of armies and food supplies, things Darian knew nothing about, at least not yet. 

He and the tiny bundle of future King were left in the care of a female servant whose name Darian couldn’t remember. She was pretty, though, with long blond hair and strikingly pale eyes. Darian liked her instantly. She played with him and told him stories, which instantly made her a good person in his eyes. 

He stayed calm for the whole of two hours. When he finally got bored of the stories and the toys, though, he tried to play with the bundle. The little sleeping Prince was pale, extremely pale, and looked quite a lot like his father, with black hair. He remembered the blue eyes from before...aside from the resemblance to his father, it didn’t look much like a prince. He settled on the floor in front of the servant, poking and prodding, pulling away the blankets. The servant didn’t stop him, though she did tell him to be careful, that he was precious. He made a face at that. It was tiny, and made funny noises when he touched it, which he thought was kind of cute. He giggled a little bit when he prodded the tinier Prince’s face and he nibbled on his finger. When the servant was looking away, he snatched the thing and raced over to the other side of the room, giggling with it. 

He nearly dropped the bundle when it started to wail at him. He squeaked in surprise, eyes wide. Wow, it was loud! Was that an alarm, a warning bell of some type? He didn’t know baby humans could make that noise! He turned around to the servant, eyes wide, no guilt to be found in his innocent face. Instead of scolding him, the servant settled on the floor beside him and took the baby prince, petting his head. She shushed the little thing, tickling him and soothing him, singing and rocking. Darian watched as the alarm, the crying, slowly died out in favor of giggles and unintelligible babbles. How did she know to do that? Darian was floored. 

The little prince reached out to touch the servant’s face, giggling happily, sitting up in her arms. Darian watched in awe as she bowed her head, letting Ethander- That had been the tiny thing’s name, right? He shrugged to himself, then stood up and toddled his way back towards some of the toys the servant had given him before, having lost interest yet again in the little prince. 

It wasn’t long after he’d picked up one of the little wooden animals that there was a tug on his arm. He turned in surprise to find himself staring down at the child. The other prince. He babbled, pointing at the toy in Darian’s grip. He had absolutely no clue what the little prince wanted. 

“Huh? Miss, does he not know how to talk proper?” 

The servant laughed, walking back over to the two princes. “He’s still a young child, Prince Averadus.” She settled beside them on the floor, picking up and offering Ethander another toy. He giggled and sat on the floor, happily playing with it. “He’s only two years old.” 

Darian blinked and offered his own toy out to Ethander, who shrieked in delight and petered off into more babbling and giggling, clanking the pieces of wood together and staring at the in wonder. Damian was so enamored with watching how the tiny royal played, he barely noticed his parents enter the room with King and Queen Jendesh. When his mother lifted him up, however, he blinked around, then grinned and hugged her. 

“I want a baby! Just like little prince!” 

His mother blinked at him in surprise. “You...want a little brother?” 

Darian nodded, giggling. “He’s so much fun to watch!” 

Why were they looking at him like that? He bounced in his mother’s arms, grinning. The four royals burst into laughter, though Darian had no clue why. He joined in, hiding his face in his mother’s neck, listening to them converse on the possibility of another prince. 

He drifted off to sleep just like that, hours later, swaying in his mother’s arms during the diplomatic meeting he was meant to attend. The day had merely been too eventful for the little prince.


	2. In (Im)mortal Danger

Something about waking up from a dream was so, so disorienting. It was unnerving, terribly so, to feel himself being lifted, being cradled, when such a thing had just happened inside his mind. It left him more than dazed, more than confused, it made him sickeningly dizzy, sending his mind into a tired flash of panic. He hadn’t had the time to catch up, he still believed himself to be six years old, clinging onto his mother as she sat in a meeting, he tried not to make a sound to upset her, but he was so sick. He frowned, gripping hard at the cloth in his hands. “M-Mother…” God, he sounded so different, was he no longer a little prince? Another tizzy of panic shot through him, red hot, leaving his mind spinning in its wake once more. Whoever was cradling him, his mother or not, shifted him and cleared their throat.

“My Prince.” That wasn’t his mother’s voice, that much was certain. He managed to blink his eyes open in his confused haze, his grip tightening. “Are you quite alright?” It was still a woman’s voice, which only added to his confusion. If not his mother, then whom? Perhaps that lovely servant from his dream, the one who’d spoken to him so softly, had let him play with that little prince? He relaxed in their grip either way, feeling the soft sway of strong arms carrying him. 

Darian was drifting. In and out of consciousness, or even in and out of life, he couldn’t tell the difference. He felt weightless, but too heavy, everything was a blur and he couldn’t pinpoint any one feeling or emotion without drifting out again. He was settled on a bed, gently, as though not to jostle him, which made him think again, drift out of consciousness. Next time his eyes opened, someone was dabbing his face with a cloth. Perhaps he was sick. Perhaps it was morning, in his castle, he’d fallen ill and had rolled himself out of bed? He could hear his men training below- No. Not below. There were the sounds of fighting nearby, people screaming and shouting, clashing metals, hoof beats on the ground. This was no normal training session, then. Where was he? His head was fuzzy, it refused to catch up with the present, and- He drifted again.

He came to when a sharp scent passed under his nose, sharp and sour. He stumbled over his thoughts, waking up with a snap of his beck. He groaned, blinking his eyes open slowly, trying to get over that dull thrum of...nothing. There was a lack of anything, any feeling, any thought, any anything. 

He swallowed back bile as an ache slowly spread through him. He stared up at a blood red sky, it must be the evening? No, not the sky, there was a ripple of wind that sent it shuddering. A tent, then, or something. A bright red tent, some type of fabric- A medic’s tent! He blinked slowly. Why was he in a medic’s...- Oh god. 

It was like someone dropped a pound of his bricks onto his chest and shoved him into an icy cold lake. Pain shot through his torso, like a bolt of lightning, and his hands flew up to his abdomen to feel around. Bandages, heavy bandages wrapped all around his mid-section. The wound, in his stomach, he had been hurt on the battlefield, there was a battle going on, and not a training battle. A war. HIs vision was swimming again, though that sharp scent under his nose kept him in it. He had a vague spark of a memory, like when there’s a word on the tip of your tongue. Something you can visualize, but you can’t vocalize what was it, what had happened, why was he here? His stomach throbbed again, and this time it prompted a noise out of his throat, which felt raw and swollen. He whimpered, shifting. He remembered a spear, an enemy weapon, hurled up into the sky, flying, flying, falling, coming straight for one of his men- Oh god.

“What happened.” He whispered, finally. His words were garbled and accompanied with fresh puke. He spit it out over the side of the bed, trying to curl in on himself, to drift back out of consciousness, away from that awful pain. It was unbearable, it was the kind of pain that could drive a man completely insane in a matter of hours. He wanted to sleep, to drift back out, to-

“You were impaled, sire.” The medic placed a gentle hand on his forehead, then a cooling clothe to bring his temperature down. The relief of an issue he hadn’t even realized he’d had spread through his system, momentarily quelling his internal struggle “A spear through your stomach,” The medic continued, running soothing hards scross his shoulders. He tried to pry himself up- “No, sire, stay laying down.” So assessing the damage himself was out of the question. He groaned and closed his eyes, nearly blacking out from the sheer agony of the wound. “You must stay laying down.” Her voice was soothing, soft. He clenched his eyes shut. He didn’t want this, he had to get out there and protect his men, protect his people.

“I must fight, I must-” 

“Prince Darian.” 

This was no longer the voice of a woman. This voice was rough, deep, not so smooth. It was a familiar voice that Darian had grown up hearing, the voice of his king, the voice of his father. He’d come by to visit, then? In the midst of a war? Darian would have gotten up and bowed if he wasn’t in such a horrific state. God, it was so good to see his father, alive and well, a survivor through and through. His eyes drifting as he struggled, trying to warn his father of the dangers of the war, trying to warn his father who their true enemy was. He couldn’t bring himself to endure the pain of speaking again. He groaned, looking his father up and down to assess him for injuries when he couldn’t touch him or ask him. Darian could only wish he would get better soon.

“News of your injury traveled to my front, are you...Is he able to hear me?” The king turned to the medic. Darian could see the worry and sorrow on his face, he could feel the sorrow in his father’s voice, it shook him to the core. He wanted nothing more than to sit up and assure his father he would survive, dammit, he just wanted to be able to talk!

“He is awake, my lord.” The medic bowed her head and stepped away to let the King take her place. Darian felt his father gently taking his hand, squeezing it. Darian’s eyes roamed the dark red fabric of the tent, before daring another glance at his father, swallowing hard. He squeezed back weakly, swallowing once more, this time to keep down the bile that kept trying to escape. 

“My son.” HIs father seemed on the verge of tears, which somehow managed to surprise Darian despite the emotional nature of his family. King Hamelyne wasn’t one to let his emotions be known when around civilians. He always had to be the stoic king ready to work for them, though he did express his gratitude to the people. But this kind of display, the outright fear in his eyes...The sadness in his voice...Darian couldn’t help but wince. “Oh, my dearest...Darian…” The king gently ran his fingers across Darian’s forehead, over the rag, then down his cheek. His hand was warm, soothing against his skin. “Your mother will be furious, my boy.” 

That got to Darian. Had his mother heard of his injuries? Oh, god, he couldn’t imagine how she would react. Tears pricked at his eyes, but a laugh bubbled up in his throat, choked and awful. It made his father's eyes alight with joy, although it also made Darian’s chest blossom with pain. It hurt so, so much, what had happened?! He jerked, crying out as more and more agony flooded his torso, making him shudder, eyes falling shut. His vision and his hearing tunnelled, he could vaguely hear people shouting his name, could hear things- orders - being screamed, but none of it made sense in his mind. It hurt, it was all pain, pain, pain, he didn’t think he could bear it much longer- 

His eyes slid shut as he finally, finally, was allowed to sleep once more. His breathing evened out into a soft rhythm. 

 

King Hamelyne squeezed his unconscious sons hand, his mind roaring, his face flushed. He had to stop this. But the war had only just begun, it didn’t take a genius to know that this wasn’t a normal war, their foe was far stronger than any normal kingdom. Hamelyne let go of his son, his eyes down. He’d already lost one son to this madness. He would not let Solaria lose another prince.

The King only stayed long enough to assure himself that Darian was merely sleeping, and was not in fact seeping towards Death, before turning with a flourish of his cape, heading back out towards his horse. He and his servant mounted and headed out of the camp, back towards their own front in the Great Forest.

Little did they know, a woman carressing a small child’s head was nearby, hushing the crying baby, watching the two men leave, smiling to herself. She was old, but not hunched, she held herself tall, long grey hair cascading down her shoulders and back as she carressed the baby’s head. The eyes were a brilliant green, a color so bright it was often hard to look into them for too long, radiating powerful magic. She murmured a soft spell that carried across the field of war, halting warriors in their paths, making them turn and stare at her, their eyes a dull, muddied green. For the first time in nearly a year, there was a hush across the whole of the battlefield as every single person turned their undivided attention to the witch. The woman strode forth, her hands out to those nearest, smiling as though she was delivering some almighty gift upon them. The child cooed with delight as some of the medics in the tent waved. The woman bowed her head as she crossed carefully to a fallen woman on the field, smiling softly, kneeling. Long fingers reached out, stroking through brilliant, blood-red hair. 

The dead body was pale, sprawled out as though it had fallen mid combat, which was likely. The woman tutted softly, her nails tracing around the hairline of the fallen woman. She was tan, her skin a beautiful golden tone. The woman's eyes roamed over her torn, broken body, sighing.

“Now now, dear. You’re not done yet.” She whispered, nails digging into the skin of her cheeks, a near sadistic smile on her face. The dead woman’s clothes were ripped and bloodied from the wounds she’d endured. The witch smiled and settled her child gently on the dead woman’s chest, brushing aside beautiful locks of black hair from her baby's face. “Wake up, young one.” She whispered, to whom she was unsure. 

The little boy squirmed while the dead body's eyes snapped open, her flesh sealing itself shut with sharp pops and sizzles. Her eyes burned a brilliant green momentarily as her body fixed the fatal wounds under the direction of the Witch's magic. The baby on her chest cooed, shifting around to hold onto her dirty hair while she took her first shuttering breath, trembling. The Witch stood slowly, taking her child again safely into her arms, caressing his head, smiling. “This woman will not die on this day,” Her voice was sharp, spreading across the field. The warriors all dropped their weapons, facing her once more. She smiled, a sickly sweet smile that only a wicked woman could wear. “Who wishes to help me escort her back to my camp?” 

The next time Darian was conscious, the battlefield was deserted. If he'd woken mere moment before, he'd see the entire field of knights following the witch and the newly arisen woman. 

He'd have perhaps ended the war two years before it was meant to. But the prince slept on, only waking a few seconds after that vital moment. 

He'd only managed to stay conscious for a minute, enough time for the remaining medic to get him safely hidden under a blanket and onto a horse, headed back to the castle. 

-+- 

There is something graceful in the way women fight.

It's not the normal hard, sweaty, jagged movements of watching his men train, it's like a well choreographed dance, a soft melody played to the tune of a sharp blade. 

Darian's head was practically spinning from the moves this new, female warrior was using on his knights, taking each one of them down with ease. She was perfect, the perfect opponent, deadly and not withholding anything. He nearly forgot that he was part of the fight, watching the swing of her blade, her footwork, her posture, watching the perfection of every step, as every bit of the dance was synced. Blood stained her blade, though she didn’t land a single deadly wound. Darian commended her for that. 

However, he didn’t hold back when the last of his men fell as he was set as the final target. 

He lashed out with a sort of fury, one not fueled by anger, but by the want for a true, passionate fight. Their blades crossed, a wave of sparks arcing out into the crowd that had now gathered. The woman was strong, that was for sure, her blade forcing him to step back once before they unlatched and stepped back to size each other up. 

Darian had no issues fighting a woman, not on the battlefield. A lot of the incoming warriors from Dourouge were women, which said a lot about the state of their kingdoms, in his opinion. They resorted to the women to fight men's battles- Now was not the time to get into the genders of the warriors, his head was about to be taken off! 

Darian wasn't ready to give up the fight. After another five minutes of clashing swords and feigning strikes. He slashed at the woman, his attacks powerful but slow. Too slow. The woman easily caught his strike and slipped her blade up his own to take the force out. She gave him a large grin as their faces neared, her tongue darting out to wet her lips- No, he was not getting distracted! Darian grit his teeth, scraping the metal of their blades,whirling around. He tried to hit her with a chopping motion that she again, easily caught and used to try and disarm him once more. He ducked and rolled, discarding his helmet to rid himself of some weight. The woman stood over him while he lay on his back, panting softly for air.

"Do you concede, prince?" Her voice was deep, threatening. Darian shivered, pushing himself up off the ground. 

"Never." He hissed, rushing at her again. He barely caught her eye roll before she spun and- Shit! Darian tripped on her ankle. She rapped him over the head with the hilt of her weapon, working her blade under his, disarming him with a mere flick. He fell face-first into the ground, rolling. Her sword touched his jugular, he's heaving for air-

She'd barely broken a sweat. 

Darian nodded a little bit, raising an eyebrow. "Good." 

That riled her up pretty easily, which amused Darian to no end; until she pressed her blade harder into his jugular, narrowing her eyes. She ripped her helmet off, glaring down at Darian. Darian choked for a moment, trying to remain still as to keep from impaling himself, all he could see was red, red hair, red face, red lips- "Good!? I just took you down within ten minutes, and all you have to say is-" 

"Arania." Another woman, the exact copy of the challenger, spoke up. Her voice was sharp. "Please remove your sword from the nice man's throat." 

Arania glared over her shoulder, but did as asked, sheathing her sword with ease, without even looking. Darian heaved in air, holding his throat, staring at the women. The newcomer was quietly berating the warrior, a hand on her lower back, frowning over her shoulder. One of the servants rushed to help Darian up while he stared, slack jawed in awe, after them. He didn’t even notice the servant cleaning the mark on his neck. Darian watched the two girls walking away, the warrior woman muttering something that made the other chuckle. 

"Invite her to join the guard." Darian murmured, pushing himself up off the ground. The servant blinked at him in surprise.

"But, sir-”

"Do it. We need her. " Darian turned heel, rubbing the sore spot on his neck. "We're done for the day." He headed back inside, his little brother following him, laughing at how bad he got his ass handed to him. 

Darian honestly had to agree.

-+-

Darian’s eyes opened slowly, as thought he was coming out of a dream that he didn’t quite want to let go, which wasn’t entirely false. He was on a bed, his bed he assumed. It wasn’t a wholly helpful realization, but it at least made the knot of tension in his stomach loosen slightly. He didn’t try to push himself up, recollecting vaguely a woman telling him not to do so some time before. Yet another realization floated to his mind’s front- He could actually remember things. He rubbed his temples, eyes closing. His wound, his men on the battlefield...He shook his head and turned to look around. This was certainly his room, upon closer inspection. He recognized the writing desk, his table, the fireplace marked with scars from his anger that he’d taken out on it. He turned to his other side, and nearly flung himself out of bed with a jolt. He wasn’t alone, it seemed. 

A woman was seated beside him, striking a terrible resemblance to a woman he loved- His fiance. But...this wasn’t her. HIs fiance, she was a warrior. She was beautiful, she was a whirlwind of fire and passion, this woman was calm, and collected, despite the perfect physical match. No, this must be the twin sister he’d met on occasion, what was her name...Louisa. He pushed himself up carefully- Carefully, though not quite enough. 

Fire. Like he’d fallen into a fire, it shot up his torso, enveloping him in a hot agony that forced a piercing shriek up out his throat, followed by a gurgle and a warm liquid, something that Darian quickly realized was blood as he spat it onto the floor, panting. 

Suddenly the woman beside him was interested. She leapt from her seat the moment Darian leaned over the bed, obviously hoping to avoid ruining her skirts, though Darian couldn’t quite find it in himself in that moment to care. 

Louisa huffed as though he’d caused her an inconvenience and rolled him back onto the bed, pushing a wet towel onto his forehead. “Prince Darian, if you would kindly stay still.” Her voice was sharp, clipped with that tinge of a foreign accent- It was a voice he’d fallen in love with once, why had he expected the twin of his fiancee to bear a different voice? He sighed, though it was quickly lost to the panting of him trying to catch his breath. “Even your breathing, my lord, before you pass out once more.” Her voice, god, it was so similar. He hated that resemblance, he quickly found. “Your father has asked me to watch over you, to make sure you rest properly. Your wounds became infected on the journey home, my lord. You must remain in bed and still.” 

His immediate inclination was to disobey. He wanted to push himself up just to prove he could- despite the fact that doing just that had caused such a violent reaction before. He settled for glaring at the woman, who returned the glare with ease. 

“Trust me, my lord, I dislike this nearly as much as you do.” 

He decided to try his voice out. Perhaps speaking wouldn’t be so painful? “Where is...Arania?” He winced a little at the scratchy, hoarse mess that was barely even intelligible. Louisa seemed to understand it just fine. She snapped up, sitting straight in her chair, every muscle in her body tense. Darian’s eyes widened. “No…” 

“My lord,” Her voice was different now. Higher pitched. Less emotional. “Arania went missing on the battlefield nearly six days ago.” Her voice was pinched. 

Darian’s heart sank to his stomach, like a pit of stone. “She wasn’t found?” 

“She was pronounced dead last evening at the Kings meeting.” She abruptly stood. “I-I must go. Your servant will be in shortly, I-I have matters to attend to, good day my lord.” She bowed, if the nod of her head could even be considered a bow, before running from the room. 

Darian would never dare mention it to anyone, but he could have sworn he heard her sniffle. His mind wass in such a haze of panic and distress, however, he could hardly even find it in himself to want to tease. How could Arania be missing?! She was the best warrior in all of Solaria, she took down men thrice her size without missing a beat, she always got out of situations...Sure, the war was dangerous, but there was no way...not Arania…Tears pricked in his eyes as he pressed his palms against his cheeks. No. She was alive, out there, somewhere. Perhaps not free, perhaps she’d been kidnapped. Yes, that had to be it! His breathing was speeding up at an alarming rate, his palms sweating, slipping from his face. He though of her hair, like flames in the sun, so rare to find naturally in his kingdom, how transfixed he had been by it upon seeing her for the first time - the pain those frantic thoughts brought about put his wounds to shame. 

Darian wasn’t, however, ashamed to admit that he broke down into tears at the thought of losing her. 

It wasn’t the first time Arania had been in danger. She was prone to danger, she was prone to running off without any care for her safety, for Darian’s feelings. It would always work out for them, in the end. It always had, they just assumed it always would. This war was like...a joke, to them. The battles they fought, they had with a smile. They’d gotten each other out of danger in more ways than they considered possible, they’d fought side by side for two years of this war, and he had hoped for however many were to come. 

They’d danced through life together, too focused on each other to notice the details and the things around them. Darian had hoped that some day, a sunrise might just be a sunrise, but with Arania, a sunrise was brilliant hair and a lovely smile, a sunrise meant early training or an even earlier sneak around the castle, a sunrise meant mischief and love. A sunrise would never be just a sun rise, because instead of admiring it for the birth of a new morning, he admired it for the creation of memories. Memories that would forever be attached to her.

Now, however, Darian felt as though they were stupid for wasting their time together like that. He felt stupid, for sneaking around, he felt stupid for not introducing her to the court, he felt so, so stupid for asking her to marry him after they’d escaped a group of bandits in the woods instead of asking her hand the proper way. 

Darian was ashamed of himself. Had he told her he loved her, before she died? Had Darian even mentioned to her that he had planned out an entire home in Dourouge just so they could go there, raise their children in their mother’s culture…? Or was he too busy being a child, being in love, to truly consider the responsibility of his actions?

Who was he kidding, he was a child. Darian was barely even nineteen years old and he’d already lost his entire future to a silly war that he truly had no business fighting in. 

Darian was ashamed to admit that was finally the thought that broke the dam, that brought the tears out of his eyes and down his cheeks, into his mouth. He was so, ashamed to say that a war- a war being fought for his family, a war being fought so he could live a happy life, was what took his only shot at one away. He was ashamed that the thought of losing Arania broke him. 

But...Darian thought back to those moments. Those shining moments, when they’d conquered a battle, when their hearts were racing with adrenaline, when there was so much to feel that they couldn’t even comprehend it, and he couldn’t bring himself to truly feel what he knew he should. He couldn’t bring himself to hate it. All he could think was how good she looked with that smear of dirt under her eye, how the moonlight caught her hair in such a way to make it seem as though the sun god himself was hugging her, all he could think about was how sweet the kiss they shared had been, how that had given him the power to get them home- 

So no, perhaps Darian was truly not ashamed to admit that the thought of Arania being ripped from him made him lose control. He was not ashamed to admit that he hurled a vase of flowers from his bedside, across the room, at the wall and screamed her name, he wasn’t ashamed to admit how much it hurt his injuries, but even moreso how much it hurt his heart, to watch the vase shatter, to watch the flowers fall flat into the fire and sizzle, spitting with moisture- He wasn’t ashamed to admit he pounded his head on the headboard, or to admit that he soaked the front of his shirt with tears, with snot and blood and spit and gods know what else. 

He was, however, ashamed that he couldn’t protect her. 

He was ashamed that, in the time she needed him most, Darian let himself fumble, he let his guard down. He let himself get hurt. 

He was ashamed to admit he was the reason she died. 

Darian wasn’t quite ready to admit the last one, however. That shame stayed hidden away, buried deep down, a nagging thought that wasn’t to be comprehended just yet.


End file.
